Life's Little Lessons
by Rennox
Summary: Collection of short stories based on fables. Each is centered around a different character.
1. Don't Be Fooled By Flattery

This is my first story in a long time, because I've been away for a while, and it is the first of twelve that will be written for this story… which is actually more of a compilation of pretty short stories revolving around a single specific character

This is my first story in a long time, because I've been away for a while, and it is the first of twelve that will be written for this story… which is actually more of a compilation of pretty short stories revolving around a single specific character. The first one is based off a fable, The Fox and the Crow, and some of the others might be too because fables are cool. They sound good and they teach you important lessons. Oh, yeah, none of this is owned by me.

* * *

**Don't Be Fooled By Flattery**

_Two young fox babes were playing in the last few remaining patches of winter slush. The watery sunlight filtered in through the dead, leafless tree branches and warmed the ground. The snow would soon be gone and spring would come to Mossflower. The young babes were supervised by an old vixen tending to a fire. Other than that they were alone in the woods. _

_The two foxes chased each other with sticks, reenacting battles of old in their play. The bigger fox jabbed at the littler fox in the belly with his pretend sword. "Ha! Yer slayed. I wins." _

"_S'not fair. Yew always wins." The littler fox whined as he dropped his stick sword._

"_Cus' I'm stronger, beetle brain."_

_The little fox plopped down in the snow and angrily kicked at the ground. "Notta beetle brain, yew sillybeast."_

"_I'm notta sillybeast!" The bigger babe stabbed at the littler babe with his stick. _

_Watching the young babes fight, the old vixen grunted as she stirred the fire. "Tis better to think an' use yer head than fight an' wind up dead." _

_The grizzled vixen spat in the fire and motioned for the two fox babes to sit by her. They obliged. "Foxes be clever beasts, not stupid like other vermin. Tis better to be clever an' weak than stupid an' strong."_

_The two fox babes exchanged puzzled glances. The old vixen ran her tongue along her toothless gums and sucked in air. "Tis a tale from many seasons ago 'bout a fox who was clever an' solved his problems with his wits…"_

'Twas indeed many seasons ago, in the land of Mossflower. A young fox by the name of Chickenhound was walking through the woods. He had spent the day gathering herbs for his mother, the vixen Sela, and had a big bundle tucked into his tunic. It was a hot day, in the middle of summer, and Chickenhound was thirsty. A small creek was nearby, so he veered off his trail to find the creek.

He untied his bundle of herbs and sat down on a rock covered in sprigs of moss. He dipped his paws in the creek and sighed in content. He had been walking all day through the hot forest and it felt good to feel the cool water flow over his sore paws and in between his toes. Chickenhound dipped a dockleaf into the water and drank deeply. As he refilled his leaf, a pair of bright eyes watched him from a tree.

It was a common sparrow, and he watched as Chickenhound continued to splash in the creek. The bird's quick eyes darted over to the mossy rock and saw the bundle of herbs Chickenhound had left. The sparrow cocked his head to the side and stared at them. As Chickenhound drank, the sparrow flew down to the rock.

Chickenhound saw the sparrow and lunged for the bird. The sparrow snatched up the herbs in his beak, leaving Chickenhound standing in the creek with nothing but a pawful of tail feathers.

"Hey!" Called Chickenhound. The sparrow watched him with his beady, flickering eyes from the branch of a nearby tree. He wanted to call back and mock the young fox, but his beak was full.

Chickenhound picked up a pawful of rocks from the creek and threw at the sparrow. He missed, and the bird flew up to a higher branch. Chickenhound sat down below the tree and spat curses at the sparrow.

The sparrow hopped back and forth among the branches, mocking Chickenhound. But the young fox was smart and used his wits as his mother, Sela the vixen, had taught him.

"Oh, kind sparrow, surely you could drop down those herbs for me!" He called to the sparrow. "What use are they to you? You are too handsome to need herbs, Sparrow!"

The sparrow hopped to the lower branch and preened his feathers and stretched his wings. Chickenhound clasped his paws in mock amazement.

"How beautiful you are, Sparrow! No other bird in Mossflower could compare to your beauty!" Chickenhound praised the rather drab sparrow.

But still the sparrow did not drop the herbs. Chickenhound put on a face of false disappointment and shook his head. The sparrow cocked his head and stared at the fox curiously.

"You are indeed beautiful, Sparrow." Chickenhound repeated. "But if only your voice 'twas as beautiful as you, dear Sparrow, then you would surely be king o' all birds in Mossflower n' beyond!"

The sparrow was eager to prove the wrong about his voice, opened his beak and let out a raucous cry. The herbs tumbled to the ground. Chickenhound quickly scooped them up and sniggered loudly at the sparrow.

And with that, Chickenhound went running of into the forest, sniggering all the way. The sparrow remained on the lowest branch, puzzled and confused. From somewhere in the forest he heard Chickenhound shout.

"Dear Sparrow, your voice is lovely, but your wit is lacking."

* * *

I know, very short, but it's the first I've written in two and half years. I couldn't quite remember how Chickenhound spoke. I didn't think he had as thick of a vermin accent as most vermin. I haven't read Redwall in a while. All I remembered is he sniggered a lot and he was clever. So please review and tell me what you think, okay?


	2. Expect No Good From the Evil

**Expect No Good From the Evil**

_Behind the walls of Redwall Abbey, stronghold of Mossflower and symbol of peace, a squirrelmaid was picking apples in the orchard. It was a pleasantly warm day, and Dibbuns were playing by the pond while otters fished and swapped stories of days long gone by. The squirrelmaid listened half-heartedly as she picked apples. Soon, her basket was quite full so she climbed down from the tree. _

_As she turned to walk into the Abbey, she heard someone calling to her from a nearby wallgate. She glanced over and saw a harmless looking stoat wearing a ragged tunic waving to her from the gate. "Good mornin'." He greeted. "I saw yew pickin' dem appless an' they looked good. So I wuz wonderin' if I could haf one o' dem apples?" _

_The squirrelmaid looked down at her basket. It was full and there were always more apples in the trees. Besides, the stoat looked harmless and hungry. She had been taught in Abbey school to help all creatures who needed it. That included vermin, right? She looked cautiously at the stoat again. He wasn't carrying any weapons and he did look hungry... _

_"Of course." The squirrelmaid selected a large apple from her basket. It was one of the biggest, juicy, red, and shiny._

_She handed the apple to the eager stoat. He snatched it away and gleefully took a bite out of the apple. He ate it, smacking loudly as the squirrelmaid watched and waited for the stoat to thank her for her kindness. Instead of thanking her, the stoat belched loudly and walked away. _

_"Hey!" The squirrelmaid shouted as she picked up her basket again. She stormed back to the Abbey, muttering under her breath the whole way. _

_"What's the matter, marm?" Asked one of the otters fishing in the pond as the squirrelmaid stormed past him._

_"I gave that stoat over by the gate an apple, but he didn't thank me." She complained. "After all, I didn't have to feed him..."_

_The otter shook his head and smiled at the squirrelmaid. "Marm, come have a seat an' let me tell you a story…"_

One cold winter's day, many seasons ago, in the time of Abbess Song, the Skipper of Otters was walking through the forest. It was never said where he was coming from, but he was on his way back to Redwall Abbey to be the rest of the otters and enjoy some hotroot soup. It was a very cold day, and a bitter wind was blowing. Skipper walked faster. It was too cold for any sensible beast to be outside. He was approaching the main gate of the Abbey when he saw the dark outline of somebeast lying in the snow. Catious, Skipper walked towards it to have a look. When he came closer, he saw it was a small ferret that for all appearances looked dead.

Here he was faced with a dilemma. Now it was always frowned upon to bring strange vermin into the Abbey, but Skipper knew Abbess Song or any of the other elders wouldn't approve of leaving anybeast outside in this weather, vermin or not. A life was a life. And he couldn't leave anybeast out to die, even if it was a vermin who no doubt led a life of questionable morale. Besides, he could handle one measly ferret if it got out of line.

So with a sigh, Skipper grabbed the ferret by the feet and dragged him through the main gate and into the Abbey. It was later in night, and the Dibbuns were asleep, except for the one or two particularly stubborn ones who were still adamantly refusing to go to sleep. The elders were gathered around the hearth before the fire, sipping hot tea and cordial when Skipper burst in through the doors in a gust of wind and snow.

They all made way for him as he dragged the frozen ferret indoors. Cregga, the blind badger mother, helped him set the ferret on the hearth.

"Sorry, marm." Skipper said to the Abbess, "But I couldn't leave anybeast out in that weather."

They gathered around the ferret and watched him slowly come to life as the fire warmed him. The ferret grunted and moved himself into a sitting position.

"You're in Redwall Abbey. This otter saved your life, you should be grateful." One of the mice by the fire said to the ferret.

The mouse offered the ferret a scone and a flask of warm cordial. Instead of taking it, the ferret growled and reached for his knife.

There was a loud thunk as Skipper hit the ferret in between the eyes with his paws. The vermin dropped to the hearth like a stone. The otter shook his head at the mouse who had offered the food and drink.

"No gratitude from the wicked."

* * *

That was one shorter, but they're fables. They aren't meant to be three thousand words long. They're short, sweet, and to the point. I need a suggestion for another character, please. It's hard trying to think of them.


End file.
